Twenty-One
A Snitch in the Midst
I shuffle weakly out to Finan’s truck under the early morning sun. A couple of maintenance guys outfitted in full Tyvek suits and mops and buckets and bottles of bleach in hand pass us on our way out of town hall. I keep trying to apologize to anyone who will listen, but instead, I am hoisted into the vehicle, a care package of ginger ale and various over-the-counter medicines at my feet, the outside of the paper bag marked “Feel better soon! Catrina [smiley face].”
Finan doesn’t talk during the drive to my cabin, which I’m so glad for. I don’t have the energy for anything more than breathing at the moment. He helps me into the house, into the bathroom where he quickly grabs fresh towels from the hall cupboard, as well as the plush bathrobe from the end
